A Study in Domesticity
by AreThereAnyDamnUserNamesLeft
Summary: Sugary sweet Johnlock fluff with a healthy dollop of her more fluff. One-shot.


Grabbing the two cups, John padded across to the sofa in his pajamas. They were taking a rare day off, to spend lazing and probably watching crap telly and drinking tea, and most likely ordering in Thai food. Wondering where Sherlock was, he looked toward the door, when Sherlock stepped in, right on cue, looking gloriously disheveled in just his pajama bottoms and a robe. John put the tv on, handed Sherlock his tea and rested his head on the detectives comfortable shoulder. He wriggled so that he was curled up, and then settled again. They stayed like that for a while, Happy and content in each others presence, languidly flipping through the channels on the telly until they settled on doctor who.

Lestrade didn't particularly want to go to the self proclaimed "World's only Consulting Detective", but he knew defeat when he saw it. When he didn't answer the calls, he decided his best option was to take Donovan and go over to the house, since describing the case to Sherlock was the best way to get him there. So, he steeled himself, called Donovan and got in the patrol car.

The boys were still snuggled on the sofa together, John curled into Sherlock's shoulder. Their tea had long since gone cold, but they were engrossed in Peter Capaldi's latest adventures, and therefore reluctant to make more. They were, then, rather startled when the doorbell rang, since they had not ordered food yet or anything like that. Before either of them could move, however, Mrs Hudson had answered it, and so they settled down once more. When the knock at their flat came, they called out for the guest to come in, and Lestrade was more than a little surprised at what he saw.

The last thing he had expected was for them to look so... content... he thought, for lack of a better word. They were surprised when they saw who it was, and got up quickly, John hurriedly apologizing on Sherlock's behalf for not answering the calls. While Sherlock spoke to the DI, John made tea, and gave Greg his. Then, he did something Lestrade didn't expect him to- he gently placed a loving hand on Sherlock's lower back just by his hip, and said "Here's your tea, darling", with a sweet smile. Sherlock went to his chair, since the dumbfounded and indiscreet Donovan had ungracefully plonked herself there, however, undeterred, John headed to the couch, and beckoned for Sherlock to sit in the space left. John adopted the posture he had maintained before the intrusion, and only then did Sherlock relax properly, whispering (or rather, stage whispering, since Greg definitely heard) "Thank you, sweetie".

At that, Donovan moved over to Sherlock's chair, and the couple stayed put. Shaking off her confusion, and trying not to notice Sherlock rubbing his hand in small circles over Johns back soothingly, she focused on what Sherlock was saying. "It's a murder staged to look like suicide" he announced. The DI only looked shocked for a second, since the detective had, after all, given the crime scene photos a 5-second glance, which was 4 seconds longer than usual.

John, from his cat-like curled up position, quietly observed the room. Noticing Donovan's discomfort, he wriggled a little closer to Sherlock and smirked at her. He rested his head against Sherlock's shoulder once he was comfy again, and placed his right hand over the pale left hand belonging to his amazing detective's. Listening once more to the conversation, he merely heard things like "40 years old" "accountant" and "abusive father". Not very much at all. He then realised that Sherlock had abandoned his tea, and so broke into the conversation, saying "SHERLOCK! Honestly, you will be the death of me! You know how cranky you get when you get dehydrated. Drink your tea!" Lestrade let out a giggle at the look on Sherlock's face- it was like that of a petulant child, as he sulkily sipped at the sweetened tea. Donovan looked on silently, rendered speechless by the display of domestic bliss unfolding before her eyes.

Sherlock glanced quickly at John, and nudged him gently. He had dozed off, still curled up with his head on the detective's graceful shoulder, and for a while the DI and Sherlock pretended not to notice. However, when Donovan had pointed it out, they had to at least react, which was why Sherlock was nudging John now. When John didn't react, Sherlock became worried, and even more so when he realised John was shaking and sweating and beginning to kick out at Sherlock's gentle caresses. Sherlock picked him up and laid him on the floor, and began to speak sentences that would appear nonsensical to any other listener, things such as "Sugarplum! Milk! Tea!" They were all trigger phrases designed to bring John back into reality, away from the PTSD induced nightmare he was stuck in.

Suddenly, the doctor let out a gasp and his eyes flew open. Sherlock was bent over him, pressing a damp flannel over his forehead to remove the sweat that had accumulated there, while Lestrade and Donovan were watching the scene unfold, wearing confused and concerned looks on their faces. He felt embarrassed for a second, but then Sherlock whispered "Don't be embarrassed. It's as much your fault as anyone's. Or if you would prefer it said another way, it's not anyone's fault but the governments for sending you out there. They won't tell anyone. Don't panic, OK?" John rolled over and shakily got to his feet. Thanking Sherlock, he climbed back onto the sofa and conversation resumed, with Lestrade desperately trying to get Sherlock to solve the case.

Sherlock politely (for once) declined the case, pronouncing it a three at best and not worth his time at all. And then proceeded to tell them who did it anyway. So, Lestrade said goodbye and the boys returned to Doctor Who.


End file.
